


Mark of the Beast

by dogtit



Category: RWBY
Genre: Dumb teenage girls doing dumb teenage things, Gen, POV Second Person, sleepover shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:26:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogtit/pseuds/dogtit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake opens her mouth, closes it. She purses her lips and narrows her eyes, nostrils flaring and her bow warping as her ears swivel and flatten under the silk. Finally, accepting her fate, she takes a deep breath and lets it out as a word. </p><p>"Truth," Blake says and nails her metaphorical coffin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark of the Beast

”Ruby,” Weiss says, voice pinched and strained from her holding back her temper for hours on end. “It is three in the morning. We need to stop. You need to stop.  _Sleep_.” 

It’s a bad omen when Weiss Schnee is robbed of the ability to articulate her frustration. It’d almost be cute, you think distantly, if the whites of her eyes weren’t blotched red with irritation and her mouth could undo itself from that angry line. You almost want to remind her about wrinkles and sticking faces, but you actually value your skin. 

"No way!" Ruby’s voice is way too cheerful for three in the morning shenanigans. "No one’s caved at truth or dare yet!"

"I volunteer," Blake drawls, voice husky with exhaustion. "I volunteer as tribute."

“ _Blake_ ,” Ruby whines, stamping her feet. “Not allowed! You’re the one who’s winning.”

It’s true. Between the three of you, Weiss, and Ruby, you have dared Blake to snort a line of (vaguely) harmless Dust off of your stomach (“This is  _so_  not it’s intended usage! You, you are  _violating_ the very basics of protocol! My  _father will hear about this!_ ”), to convince Ren to make a pancake shaped like a dick and eat it, to take a noogie from Nora  _and_  Pyrrha  _at the same time_ , and somehow pants Jaune. 

The last thing was supposed to be an impossible dare because Jaune wears footie pajamjams. How were you supposed to know that Blake knew how to disrobe a man out of his footie pajamjams? But that was Blake, chock full of vaguely disturbing skills concerning getting people out of their clothes.

"If I’m winning, I get to decide when to fold them. I’m choosing to fold them, Ruby." Blake doesn’t even look tired, the jerk. Come winter you are gonna space heat the shit out of her bunk and make her a big pile of sleepy cat if it’s the last thing you do, you decide. 

"But—but!" Ruby’s lip does the wiggle thing. Blake’s jaw tenses and Weiss makes a strange, choked little noise like a baby seal ("Blehphht," or something like it) and you can see that the real winner is Ruby. Fifteen years and you’ve never been able to withstand Ruby when she gets her eyes all watery and her lip all wiggly and pathetic. Like a kicked puppy that wants to eat you out of house and home. 

These guys are so fucked.

"Fine," Blake sighs, and Ruby pumps a fist in the air with a delighted whoop, "but only one more round. I’m dying here."

“ _You’re_  dying? What about my  _sleep_  schedule,” Weiss laments, throwing an arm across her eyes and splaying out with a whine. “I’ll turn into Yang at this rate. Hibernating through my life like some party-hardy bear.”

"Whoa! Whoa. Hey." You scowl. "Bear similes? Not cool. Listen here, snow queen—"

"—It’s heiress, actually."

“ _Blake_ —”

It’s just late enough that this is what sends the four of you into a rousing chorus of giggles, doubling over and smothering cackles with your palms. Blake looks far too proud of herself, dark lips spread into a victorious little grin. 

"Whatever!" Weiss is the first to recover, sweeping all the traces of her mirth under the rug. "Truth or dare, Blake."

"It’s my turn!" Ruby protests, but then bites her lip. "I think. I lost track after the Dust thing." 

“ _Still_  awesome, by the way.” You hold your hand out for a high five and your partner delivers, a satisfying  _crack_  of skin against skin. 

"Holla," Blake says in perfect deadpan to compliment. Weiss makes a stricken noise and gestures with her hands.

"It doesn’t matter! It’s the last one of the night!" She crosses her arms, juts her chin. "Pick one. And please, for the love of everything, no dares. Ruby wants to see if you can bungee jump with Gambol Shroud’s ribbon and I’m too young to go to prison."

"Wow! First of all, how dare you?" Ruby puffs out her cheeks. "That was supposed to be a secret, and you wouldn’t go to prison anyway!"

"I’d be an accessory to  _murder_ , Ruby! Of course I would go to prison!”

"Well, it’s not like you’d  _push_  her!”

"I would," you admit. "I’d totally push you, Blake."

"You’re sweet," Blake says back. 

“ _Pick a damn option!_ ”

Like Weiss has left her with one. The very basic guidelines you started this game with were that, should Blake pick the option of truth, no questions about White Fang were to be asked. It would have just made things incredibly awkward, tense, and you really have no desire to make a repeat of the whole Festivalgate thing.

Blake opens her mouth, closes it. She purses her lips and narrows her eyes, nostrils flaring and her bow warping as her ears swivel and flatten under the silk. Finally, accepting her fate, she takes a deep breath and lets it out as a word. 

"Truth," Blake says and nails her metaphorical coffin.

"Alright, ah…" Weiss blinks blearily up toward the dorm light, searching for questions. "What…is your favorite…"

"Do you have any tattoos?" 

Your rushed question draws the stares of all three, in various states of  _what?_  What were you supposed to do, though? Wait for Weiss to ask Blake what her favorite  _color_  was?

"Well," you prod gently when no response comes forth. "Do you?"

Blake gnaws on her lip, sucking off a layer of dark lipstick. “Um. Well. Yes, actually.”

"Wait,  _what_?” Ruby leans forward. “No way! Show, show!” 

"Show you—oh no. I couldn’t." She holds her left arm and gnaws on her lip again, eyes darting. "It’d violate the rules." 

Which meant that it was something White Fang related. Weiss goes very still, the graceful line of her jaw tensed. Silence reigns, and Ruby looks resigned to calling off the game—which sucks, because hell, now  _you_  want to see Blake’s ink—when Weiss sighs, flicks her hand. 

"I watched you do a line of company product off of Yang’s stomach. I can handle a little skin." 

"Weiss," Blake warns, brows furrowing to form a wrinkle of anxiety in that rich skin. 

"Did I stutter? Show it off, Belladonna." Quiet, stubborn demands. Weiss arches a brow and scowls and Blake actually snorts, rubbing her arm through the fabric of her robe. 

"Fine. Fine…" 

And she pushes up the sleeve. You’ve never seen Blake’s left arm bare, before. It’s always covered by that weird arm sock thing or her robes or her uniform. You’d thought you wouldn’t notice the apparent tattoo she’s got just because you were imagining it in black ink.

Blake’s tattoo is done in  _white_ , stark and vibrant against her rich skin. It’s not quiet a sleeve—it starts in a band halfway up her bicep and stretches to the middle of her forearm. The old symbol of the White Fang—a wolf’s head lowered in pensive thought, surrounded by a circle—lies front and center. Symbols and shapes fight each other for space—you can recognize what must be a prototype of Blake’s own sigil, next to a long stemmed, wilting rose. 

Ruby breathes, “Wow!” and Weiss just sort of stares at the wolf’s head like she’s expecting it to rear off of Blake’s skin and snap her up. You reach out before Weiss can say something stupid, rub the pad of your thumb over the raised lines of Blake’s arm. 

"The detail’s incredible," you murmur, and Blake’s shoulders slump with released tension. "What’s this stand for?"

"Um—" Blake blinks at you, staring. "Yang—"

"C’mon! I’m honestly curious." You trace the stem of that wilting rose with reverence. 

"It’s—my mentor’s symbol." Her voice is strained, like you’re pulling out her teeth. "Adam. He was…a good friend." 

"And this one?" Ruby plops right beside you, poking the geometric band around Blake’s bicep.  

"It, ah. It means ‘protection’. The artist was from Mistral, and she thought I’d need it." Blake is silent for a while, before chuckling without humor. "Well, she wasn’t wrong."

"Look at the state of these." Weiss’s voice lacks any real bite, just tired disappointment. She’s peering over your shoulder and huffs. "The ink’s fading." 

"Ah—yeah. I had a lot of these done when I was pretty young, so—"

"I’ll set up an appointment for you." Weiss yawns. "To get them touched up. It’d be a shame to let these works of art go to waste." It’s the closest to words of acceptance that Weiss is capable of for now, but it’s more than enough. It is the sweet, sweet sign of progress! You mentally remind yourself to put a gold star under Weiss’s "Wasn’t A Total Piece of Shit" column in the team ledger.

And Blake just kind of tears up, then. Her eyes get big, and she sniffs—just once. “Thanks. Thanks, Weiss. I think I’d—like that.”

"You’d  _better_.” Weiss tries to play it off by buffing her nails on her nightgown, but her face resembles the color of beets and her mouth is twisted to hide a bashful smile. “It will take a miracle to find a parlor that stocks white ink around this time of year.”

"Awww," Ruby coos, slapping both hands over her cheeks. "Look at you, all sensitive and nice." 

Weiss flushes deeper. “ _Shut up_.”

"No, Ruby’s right." Weiss  _is_  being nice. Rhyme aside, just a gold star in the ledger won’t cut it. Good behavior must be rewarded and reinforced. “Weiss, I think you earned a Good Job Kiss.”

"A Good J— _no_.” Her bony shoulders rise hedgehog quills. “Yang,  _no_. I refuse. Absolutely not.”

"You can’t stop it, Weiss. You’re gettin’ a smooch of victory."

“ _No!_ ”

"Here comes the Smooch Train," you warn, getting up on your knees. " _Chugga, chugga…_ ”

"You stay away from me!" Weiss turns to Blake, aghast. "You! You raided trains before, right? Do something!"

"Sorry, Weiss," Blake stifled her giggles in the back of her palm. "I gave that life up. You’re on your own." 

"Augh! You are  _useless_ , Belladonna!” You’ve got Weiss’s thin arms in your hands and you’re landing a big, wet slobbery kiss on Weiss’s high cheek in due time. “ _I will murder you_!”

Weiss literally kicks you off and you flomp against Blake’s bunk with a wheezy laugh, rubbing over your sore stomach. “You loved it, shitlord.”

Weiss just drags the back of her hand against her cheek and glares at you. “Let’s just get to  _sleep_ , please.” 

"Sure, sure. Blake wins!" Ruby takes Blake’s wrist and lifts her tattooed arm high in the air. "Huzzah, and whatever! Time to use the sleep. Night, guys!" 

You and Ruby climb into your bunks as Blake straightens the sleeve of her robe, humming softly. Then, softer still; “Thank you. Everyone, just…thank you.” 

You drop your hand down, and Blake holds it for a brief moment. You give her hand a squeeze and finally let her drop off to sleep.

When the morning comes, you and Weiss are going to comb veil for a tattoo parlor. You spent twelve hours to search for Blake, after all. How hard could it be?


End file.
